


i got guns in my head and they won't go

by prettydizzeed



Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Shadowhunter Chronicles - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Asexual Raphael Santiago, Asexuality, Communication, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Healthy Relationships, Humor, M/M, Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, Past Sexual Assault, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-16
Updated: 2018-07-17
Packaged: 2019-03-19 12:50:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13704816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prettydizzeed/pseuds/prettydizzeed
Summary: “I'm seeing someone,” he says, so calm, like he isn’t clenching his jaw to keep from biting his cheek, or maybe screaming.Isabelle takes a step back, the same move he used to see her make when he watched her train, a quick motion to regain her balance after being hit. Her shock makes him feel both offended and accomplished. “Who?”Meliorn’s smile belongs in an armory. “Me.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [brightclam](https://archiveofourown.org/users/brightclam/gifts).



> title is from "Spirits" by the Strumbellas
> 
> this is not how I planned for this fic to go but fake dating is my favorite trope and I've never written it before so here goes
> 
> also: I have ocd and I relate to Raphael so therefore Raphael has OCD in this fic. the only mentions of compulsions will be pretty common stuff but if you develop compulsions easily or don't like reading about them, this might not be the fic for you. stay safe <3

SGA or some other, equally oblivious organization is doing its best to remind the student body that it doesn't know the difference between a trigger warning and the NRA. It's some sort of awareness week for sexual assault and dating violence, and someone decided it would be a good idea to plaster the entire entrance to the caf with statistics about how one in five Idris University students will be victims of sexual assault—without stopping to consider that maybe some of those one in five students will not react well to facing a wall of quotes about sexual assault and intimate partner violence without any warning.

Raphael promptly speedwalks to the men's room to have his panic attack in peace.

Any hopes he'd had of breaking down in relative privacy are abandoned, however, when he opens the door to find someone already at the sink in the cramped, two-stall bathroom. The man—Meliorn, Raphael remembers vaguely—Isabelle's ex, he remembers acutely—meets his panicked glance via the mirror. He has the sink running, but he's not exactly washing his hands, just holding them there as the water passes through his fingers.

“Um,” Raphael says, more out of instinct than an actual desire to start a conversation, and Meliorn shuts the water off and turns to face him, leaning back against the counter. Raphael wonders briefly, like he did the first time he saw the leaf tattoo on Meliorn's cheek, how fucking much it must've hurt to get that done.

Meliorn raises an eyebrow, which leads Raphael to notice that his eyes look—off. He's only seen the guy a couple of times, and only in passing, but Meliorn has always radiated a visceral sense of serenity, a refusal to be shaken by a predominantly white institution that makes its distaste for their presence undeniably apparent. Now, though, Meliorn has traces of eyeliner smudged across his knuckles. His eyes are red, and one thumb is keeping the ring on his index finger spinning at an inconstant rate. Water drips from his hands.

Raphael should probably leave; then, at least one of them could avoid having an audience for their emotional turmoil.  Instead, he asks, “Are you okay?”

Meliorn shrugs, looking at the gradually growing puddle of water on the tile. “Just a little shaken. I will be fine.”

“Yeah, same, I wasn't prepared for all that.” Raphael gestures towards the door and wonders why the fuck he's making small talk about his trauma.

“Raise your hand if you have been personally victimized by Isabelle Lightwood,” Meliorn mutters, and Raphael snorts.

“That obvious, huh?”

Meliorn shrugs again. Despite the shakiness of his breath, the movement is graceful. “Honestly, I thought I might just be projecting.”

Raphael doesn't know what to say to that, but he knows he can't face the campaign outside yet, so he grasps for something that will keep the conversation going. Unfortunately, all he can think about is the shit outside that he's trying to avoid. “They really need to learn that there are ways to educate without triggering people.”

Meliorn smiles wryly. “That would require them to think of how things like this continue to affect people's lives, instead of viewing it as a statistic, a static event. Something with an end.”

“I thought the end was what they were trying to accomplish by giving me a panic attack,” Raphael says, and Meliorn laughs.

“Quite the counterintuitive strategy.” Beneath the shadow that hints at dark circles threatening to form, and past the harsh redness that is now fading, Meliorn’s eyes are a deep brown, and they’re flickering with tentative amusement.

“Yeah, no kidding.” Raphael can feel pins and needles beginning to stagger their way down the backs of his arms, a sure sign that he’s on his way to hyperventilating. He wonders briefly if Meliorn can tell, then figures maybe it’s only fair if he can, since Raphael has just caught him mid-crying.

“I probably should have asked if you were okay,” Meliorn says, and Raphael wonders if his thought process was that obvious. “Perhaps the proper opportunity has passed, but I would still like to check.”

Raphael nods shakily. “I’ve been better.” He forces the words past his teeth, feels the consonants catch on his incisors. “I really don’t want to go out there.”

Meliorn nods. “Understandable. I have to, unfortunately, because I have a class soon, and I should probably avoid skipping any more meals.” He meets Raphael’s eyes briefly. “You can eat with me, if you would like.”

Raphael finds himself nodding. “Yeah, okay.”

He washes his hands, since he’s already in the bathroom, and also because he feels phantom sand grains on his skin, like someone dipped his hands in mud up to the wrists and let it dry, stiff and out of place. He turns the faucet off with his elbow and curses when he sees that the paper towel machine isn’t motion-activated; he’s never been in this bathroom before.

Meliorn jabs at the button a few times and hands him a paper towel, then holds the door open as they leave. (The trashcan is too far from the door to be able to open it with a paper towel instead of touching it, Raphael notes. He’s tried too many times to prop doors open with the very tip of his toes and stretch to the trash can, or shove the door open as forcefully as possible and try to sprint the few steps to the trashcan and back before it shuts. But now, Meliorn is propping the door open with his elbow like putting his skin against it is easy, and Raphael fights back the flinch as he brushes past him.)

They swipe into the caf, Raphael pointedly not looking at the floor, not allowing anyone to think this affects him, but not focusing on any parts of the walls long enough to read the bolded warning signs. He’s incredibly relieved to see Meliorn slide his hand smoothly under the hand sanitizer dispenser. Meliorn sets his messenger bag down at a table near the entrance, and Raphael puts his bag down, too, even though he prefers the back corners, where he can see everything that’s happening and doesn’t need to worry about someone walking up behind him.

Meliorn is already sitting with a glass of water and a pathetic-looking salad when Raphael puts his plate down. Meliorn follows his gaze and smiles wryly. “The vegetarian options here are limited, to put it nicely.”

Raphael grimaces. “The meat sucks, if it makes you feel any better.”

Meliorn smiles. It isn’t the smile he normally offers to people who try to talk to him, disarming and vaguely condescending; it seems genuine, which means it’s still intensely disconcerting. Raphael looks away.

“So, what’s your major?” he asks, forcing himself not to wince at his own awkwardness. At Meliorn’s raised eyebrow, he gives a half-shrug, carefully casual. “What, isn’t that what people normally ask in these scenarios?”

“I doubt that most of the student body would ever find themselves in this particular situation.”

“One in five,” Raphael mutters, and Meliorn sighs. Raphael wasn’t intending for him to hear, but then again, Meliorn has never indulged anyone else’s expectations. They sit in silence for a few minutes.

“Biology,” Meliorn says, and Raphael thankfully keeps his confusion off his face for the seconds it takes him to remember the context of the statement.

“Political science,” Raphael offers, and Meliorn nods in acknowledgement. Neither of them ask how the other’s classes are going. When they finish eating, they take their plates to the conveyor belt that stretches into the kitchen; Raphael holds his breath as he sets the dishes down, and until they've reached the cafeteria door. His face is impassive.

“I hope your day improves,” Meliorn says, and Raphael nods. His dorm is in the same direction as Meliorn's next class, but he takes the long way instead, leaving through the other cafeteria door, measuring his steps in his head.

 

*

 

A few days later, Raphael is scanning the booths at the caf for Maia. When he spots her, though, she isn’t alone.

“I didn’t know you knew each other,” he says, sitting his bag down. Meliorn gives Maia a strange look, and she grins.

“We’re in the same anatomy class.”

“I also didn’t know you took anatomy,” Raphael says, raising an eyebrow at her. He hears Meliorn snort.

“It’s a prereq for the upper-level marine bio classes,” she responds. Raphael shrugs.

“I haven’t touched a science since AP chem in high school, so…”

Meliorn looks mock-affronted. At least, Raphael hopes he isn’t actually offended. Maia just rolls her eyes.

“STEM majors, am I right?” Bat says, setting his plate down with a clatter. “So judgy.”

Meliorn gracefully arches an eyebrow and tilts his head to look Bat up and down with a flick of his eyes, which doesn't exactly disprove Bat’s point.

“You have paint in your hair,” Meliorn says calmly. Bat shrugs.

“Oh, by the way, Raphael, Elliot said to ask if you could look over his paper sometime before you guys’ history class on Thursday.”

“Is there a reason he couldn't ask me himself? I seem to recall him having a phone.”

Bat shrugs again. “It's a flip phone.”

“Yeah, okay, whatever,” Raphael grumbles, waving a hand at him. “I’ll help your boyfriend, even though he’s doing better in that class than I am. Now sit down.”

Bat grins, says thanks, and flops down next to Maia. “How goes the sciencing?”

Meliorn barely says anything throughout lunch, but the corner of his mouth lifts when Bat glances at the essay on Raphael’s laptop and asks what’s so important about the Coal Wars, anyway, and Raphael, in his steeliest voice, informs him about the Battle of Blair Mountain and the importance of unions without pausing his typing.

“He’s like this,” Bat says to Meliorn, waving a hand at Raphael. “It’s an unfortunate side effect of getting to hang out with me and Maia.”

Raphael rolls his eyes without letting them see how his breath sits uneven in his throat, but he does look up, then, to see Meliorn’s reaction. Meliorn’s face is unreadable.

“What is your opinion on Sid Hatfield’s engagement with reporters?” Meliorn asks, impassive. “Was it to spread information about the cause or to gain personal fame?”

Raphael knows he’s gaping, knows he should click his jaw shut and respond with an analysis addressing the importance of a figure of hope for the miners, but—

“You know who Sid Hatfield is.”

Meliorn’s eyebrow twitches. “Yes.”

Maia leans over to nudge Raphael and stage-whispers, “Marry him.” Meliorn almost smiles.

 

“He’s intimidating as hell,” Bat says after Meliorn leaves for class. “It’s hot.”

Raphael glares at him while Maia cackles.

“Not my type, boys, but I understand where you’re coming from.”

“Yeah, because your girlfriend scares the shit out of everyone,” Bat says, and darts out of the way of her elbow.

“It’s true,” Raphael adds, grinning at her. “Very impressive.”

“Yeah, well, we’ve already established that you have a thing for intimidation tactics,” Maia retorts.

“You know I don’t.”

“Speaking of stuff you don't have a thing for, does he know you’re ace?” Bat asks, looking up from his third plate of food.

Raphael glances at him, and tells himself he doesn’t have time to think about that right now. He taps his fingers against his thumb, index-middle-ring-pinkie, both hands at once, rhythmic, instead. “You’ve apparently forgotten that we’ve had a maximum of two conversations.”

“When was the first one?” Maia asks, raising her eyebrows at him.

“You’re late to class,” Raphael points out, and takes a sip of his water as they both swear and run off.

“We’ll find out eventually!” Bat yells over his shoulder, and Raphael shakes his head in mock exasperation. The effect is somewhat ruined by his smile.


	2. Chapter 2

After that, Raphael sees Meliorn everywhere. It turns out that Maia isn’t the only one who knows him; some of Gretel’s environmental engineering requirements intersect with Meliorn’s environmental studies minor, and Catarina’s pre-nursing program requires a lot of the same biology classes. It’s kind of surprising that his first real interaction with Meliorn was in such a bizarre situation, considering how much their friend groups overlap. Actually, Magnus is the only one of his close friends who isn’t already friends with Meliorn, or, in Bat’s case, trying way too hard to be.

“He’s too much of a radical,” Magnus says one day, shrugging. They’re all hanging out in his and Elias’s dorm, sprawled across the floor. “I had Western Civ with him last semester. I have no problem with people debating in class—”

“As we are well aware,” Ragnor interrupts, and Magnus rolls his eyes.

“Shut up, you’re in grad school, you’ve never even had a class with me. Anyway, he wouldn’t even actually argue with people, he would just ask their opinion on some obscure historical event and then smirk at them while they stumbled all over themselves. I’m all for pettiness and condescension, of course—”

“Of course,” Ragnor echoes, smirking.

“—but it was uncomfortable.” Magnus pokes at Ragnor’s calf with his foot as half-hearted retaliation for being interrupted.

“Okay, but your boyfriend’s a total centrist, so you can’t really tell Raphael he can’t date someone based on their politics,” Maia says, and Catarina laughs. Raphael scowls at her.

“Who said anything about me dating him?”

“And it’s not like you or Alec are pacifists, either,” Gretel adds, ignoring him.

“What historical event were you embarrassed you didn’t know?” Catarina teases, and Magnus scowls at her, lightly knocking his foot against her knee. She throws a pillow at him.

“He asked me something about the role of the Congress for Cultural Freedom in the Cold War. He was completely shocked when I actually knew what he was talking about, as if he didn’t already know I’m a history minor.” Magnus rolls his eyes. “But,” he adds, grinning at Raphael, “I would be willing to set our differences aside for a close friend’s sake.”

Raphael rolls his eyes. “You’re all delusional.”

Ignoring him, Maia leans forward around Gretel, who’s draped across her lap on the coveted singular couch. “Did you know they _got lunch together_?” she asks Magnus, who gasps, mock scandalized.

“Without giving me the opportunity to approve your outfit? _Raphael._ I raised you better than this.”

Raphael grabs a nearby pillow and covers his face with it. Catarina’s leg jostles him, and Dot nudges his other leg in the same spot without him having to ask her. He shifts the pillow for a half second to shoot her a thankful look. “Don’t any of you have class?” he asks. “I’m pretty sure this many people in a dorm room is a fire hazard.”

Ragnor jumps up—Raphael can tell, even though he still has a pillow over his face, because Maia yells, “Get off my shoes, you melodramatic bastard!”—and announces way more loudly than is necessary in the small space, “Out, all of you! We cannot allow Raphael to go up in flames before his as-yet-nonexistent relationship does!”

Someone (probably Catarina) smacks him (probably on the shoulder) and he yelps. Raphael doesn’t need to look to know he’s clutching a hand over his heart. “Betrayed! And by my own blood!”

“We aren’t related,” Catarina says, the eye roll audible in her voice. “You made me do that DNA test shit junior year, remember?”

Ragnor presumably collapses onto the couch, because Maia and Gretel both shriek and swear. “What does science know in comparison to the human soul?”

“Get your soul off of my thighs,” Gretel retorts.

“Hmph,” Ragnor says primly, and stands again. “What were we talking about?”

“How you have two weeks to write a thirty-page paper,” Raphael says, and Ragnor sighs.

“Ah, yes, it was the reasons Raphael would make a wonderful boyfriend. Exhibit A: he keeps a meticulously organized Google calendar.”

“Anything for you, love,” Raphael drawls, and everyone laughs.

*

He almost doesn’t sit next to Meliorn when he notices him at breakfast the next morning, but the caf is practically empty, and Raphael doesn’t want to look like he’s snubbing him. Besides, he tries to make a point of not letting his friends’ conspiracy theories and misguided meddling influence his life.

He sticks his hand under the hand sanitizer dispenser on his way over and swears; it’s empty, and he forgot to refill the bottle he keeps in his backpack. He’s about to excuse himself to the restroom as he sets his tray down when Meliorn detaches a mini hand sanitizer bottle from the strap of his messenger bag. It’s one of the obscure, short-lived scents from Bath & Body Works, the one that’s supposed to smell like grass, which startles a laugh out of Raphael.

Meliorn rolls his eyes. “Do you want some or not?”

Raphael squirts some on his left palm and goes through the process of evenly distributing it across the surface of both hands. “Thanks.”

He tries to keep the relief out of his face, but Meliorn’s expression is way too knowing. It’s unnerving.

They eat in silence for a few minutes, but then Raphael can’t quite suppress a yawn, and Meliorn glances up from his bowl of pathetically unripe fruit. “Not a morning person, I assume?”

Raphael shakes his head. “Not much of a daytime person, period.”

Meliorn laughs. It probably shouldn’t make Raphael feel proud of himself. “What inspired you to join the seven loyal patrons of the caf this morning, then? Do you have a deep-seated devotion to vaguely beige pineapple?” He lifts his fork for emphasis; the pineapple is indeed somewhere between tan and grey, which is not something Raphael wants to think too hard about. He shrugs instead.

“I have an 8am and a 10am. There’s not much I can do in an hour, so, might as well get some food since I’m already awake.”

Meliorn winces in sympathy, then grins just as easily. “You might be the only person I have met who goes to their 8am consistently.”

“How do you know?” Raphael asks, leaning back in his chair. He feels almost comfortable, talking to this person he barely knows, which is another thing he’s not going to analyze right now. “This might be my first day going to class.”

Meliorn shakes his head. “You were on the President’s List both semesters last year; you are a better student than that. Besides, I have seen you in here every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday morning for the past month and a half.”

Raphael schools his features to keep from showing how startled he is, but he gets the sense that Meliorn still knows; Meliorn’s smirk seems to widen by a few degrees. Raphael is running out of things he’s comfortable allowing himself to think about.

“Yeah, I guess I’ve noticed you here before, too,” he says, and Meliorn’s smirk shifts into a smile before his face goes back to its typical impassivity.

“I find mornings to be calming,” Meliorn says, spearing another piece of concerningly colorless pineapple with his fork. “I take my peace whenever I can find it, lately.”

Raphael nods. “I know the feeling.”

They eat in silence for a while, which is something Raphael is unexpectedly appreciative of. He loves his loud, energetic friend group, but this is—it’s calming, like Meliorn said. It feels like Raphael has space to think, whereas his friends—his other friends, he should probably say, because it seems unfair to dismiss Meliorn like that—are good at distracting him from his thoughts when that’s what he needs. Maybe sometimes, he needs quiet moments like this, too, though.

*

Raphael gets an email Thursday night that his 8am the next day is cancelled. He goes to the caf at 9:00 anyway.

Maia finds out, of course, because the universe can’t let him have nice things without ensuring that someone’s around to tease him about them.

“Enjoy sleeping in this morning?” she asks when he walks up to their usual crowded booth at lunch. Meliorn turns away from where Bat is rambling about something and watches them. He isn’t raising an eyebrow like Raphael was expecting, but it looks like he’s prepared to do so at any moment.

“Yeah, the extra hour was nice,” Raphael says, shooting her a look and uncapping his hand sanitizer. The cafeteria’s dispenser is still out.

“Hour?” Maia asks, not at all trying to disguise the fake innocence. “Singular? Not, say, a couple?”

The only reason he doesn’t throw a napkin at her is because he doesn’t want to have to apply hand sanitizer again. Instead, he turns on his heel and goes to get some food.

When he gets back to the table and slides into the booth beside Meliorn—and he can’t help but wonder if his meddling friends intentionally left that as the last space open—Meliorn at last raises his eyebrow.

“I thought you were not a fan of mornings,” he says, a glimmer of a laugh caught somewhere in his throat, shading his tone with something dangerously similar to affection for half a second.

“I’m not,” Raphael affirms, unwrapping his plastic fork, “but I am a fan of routines.” Meliorn shifts back slightly as if surprised, and Raphael wonders if he somehow said too much— _Eating breakfast with you is a routine. You’re an understood and accepted constant in my life already, something I plan for. I gave up an hour of sleep to listen to you talk about the garden in your childhood home this morning, and I’d do it again if the chance arose._

Meliorn looks down and starts eating his salad, but he’s smiling around his fork.

**Author's Note:**

> you can read about the coal wars and the battle of blair mountain here: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Battle_of_Blair_Mountain  
> it's some fucked up stuff.
> 
> feel free to say hi on tumblr @basilhallward


End file.
